The footprints lead to a place near the muddy green river. It's uncertain if they stop there because whoever left them walked into the river, or suddenly vanished, or was carried away by something.

The river flows slower, now, than when it was flooded earlier this morning. The river is, as always, surrounded by bugs that flutter to and fro among the browning trees of the woods. The bugs are too loud.

Near where the footprints stop is a pair of solid brown hiking boots. The green laces hang loosely in the eyelets, having been undone from the top two. Along with the boots there is an old wristwatch with a dark leather strap. The watch is silver, and covered in mud when you pick it up. You carefully scrape away the mud on the face of it. It seems to have stopped at twelve o'clock. Broken or wound down, you can't tell.

You turn it over in your hands, cool metal against your fingers. On the back of the watch, when you wipe the mud away from there, too, has an inscription. "For dad." Just two words.

You feel your stomach turn at them, anyway, clenching your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut. You inhale the smell of the running water, the trees, the fresh soaked earth. You put your right hand over your mouth as you wait for your racing mind to settle. Impossible. Your mouth starts to taste like mud. Your skin crawls.

Wind rustles the trees, sending shivers up your spine. The river runs quietly on. You lower your hand from your mouth, wiping it on your jeans. You hold your breath, counting to five before letting it out again. When you let it out you feel yourself turn hollow.

It wasn't you this time. Was that better or worse? Maybe it was all the same, anyway. The river kept running. The trees kept living. The bugs and birds went about their lives quite normally. Hardly anyone noticed anything. Even if the river spat people back up.

You lie down in the mud, eyes closed, gripping the watch tighter in your hand.